Unleash the Beast
by sockwantstodie
Summary: 〚Eyeless Jack x Genderless Reader〛Has this something always been wrong with me and I just didn't notice it before? When did I start dealing with memory loss? When did the nightmares start? When did I start drinking so heavily? Why can't I remember anything even when I'm sober? Do I still have my job? Something's not right. Something has been seriously wrong with me! I- Wait,


_...Certainly not_ whatever it is that I've currently got going on.

My eyes suddenly crack open and I release a groan. I couldn't help but turn my head away from the light that was currently assaulting my unadjusted eyes and lift a single hand up to shield them from the light that the blinds allowed to pour into my room. I hated waking up in the daytime, especially when my obnoxiously large bed was forcefully pressed against the wall with the only window in the room. It was so hard waking up every morning with the sun shining on my face. But, it seemed that this was the only way I could seem to fit the fucking bed itself in my room, so I was forced to put up with it.

Unamused, I tug my blankets and sheets over my head, and turn over in a way that doesn't make my dominant hand hurt any more than it needs to so that I don't have to feel the full effect of the sun's harassment. I shut my eyes once again and try to convince myself to go back to sleep, but to no avail. Begrudgingly, I let out a frustrated howl and throw the blankets off off my body. I raise my hands up to my face and rub it, letting out a long exhale through my nose as I do so.

Taking my sweet time, I gather up the energy to push myself up off the bed and swing my legs over the edge. My bones creak in protest to my movements while my muscles just ask me very nicely to stretch. So, I raise an arm up above my head and reach up as high as I can towards the sky, listening as my shoulders crack and my muscles comply to my movements. Tiredly, I let my arms drop back to my sides so I can push myself up off the bed. I wince upon feeling my warm feet touching the cold floor and briefly consider putting on some socks or slippers or something. Before I force myself up to my feet, which appeared to be a mistake. My head immediately begins to spit out it's two cents as it buzzes and aches, prompting me to put a hand on it in a feeble effort to quiet it down. But it still screams at me.

I look down upon feeling the cold air of autumn swirling around my legs and quickly become aware that I have no pants. I look around, my eyes falling on a random bottle of some fancy sort of alcohol that I must've drank last night. But I don't really spend much time focusing on that since I had more pressing matters at hand currently, like my missing pants for instance. Though, they don't seem to be around from what I can gather and this gets me a bit agitated.

Groggily, I stumble over to my dresser and tug the needed drawer open, casually grabbing a random pair of sweatpants that I tug on. As I was pulling them over my thighs, my phone went off, disrupting the silence that I had failed to appreciate earlier, with my suddenly really obnoxious ringtone of "Hello, it's me" followed by a bunch of meme nonsense that I honestly can't be bothered with. I let out another groan and tug my sweatpants up the rest of the way. I admit that I genuinely considered not answering for a second, but I decided that I probably should, in case it was my boss calling to yell at me for being late for work by 4 hours again.

Or was it my day off today..?

Either way, I trudge over to my nightstand, desperate to quiet the ringing noise that came from my phone. I pick it up and answer the call, not really paying much attention to what the contact ID read out to me as I put the phone to my ear. I rub the spot between my eyes with my thumb and forefinger with a small sigh.

"Yes, hello..?" I ask, sounding worse than I felt

"[First Name]! Fucking finally!" The voice of my friend, [Friend's Name], comes shrieking from the other side "You should really get better about answering my calls."

"I was busy." I tell her, simply

Well, I wasn't _completely_ lying.

"Sure you were." She replies, sarcastically "Anyway, we were at the bar last night."

"We..?" I repeat, confused

"Yeah, Darren and I." She chirps, before hesitantly asking, "You _do_ remember Darren, right?"

"Just barely." I answer honestly

"Jesus, [First Name] do you look at _any_ of my social media?" She exclaims "I tag you in so many Facebook _and _Twitter posts! Don't you read them?"

"I thought I deleted my Facebook." I mumble

My stomach growls at me, yelling at me to get some sort of food into my system. After placing my hand on my stomach and looking down at it with a glare, I finally make my way out of my bedroom and head into the kitchen. I didn't even bother with checking my appearance in the mirror of the bathroom whilst I passed it this time. I already knew I looked like absolute shit and didn't need to be reminded of that simple fact. I walk around my little wooden dining table and pull the fridge open, taking a moment to look through it whilst I barely paid any attention to what [Friend's Name] was saying.

"Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?" [Friend's Name] suddenly asks

"Oh, uh," I sputter softly as I take out a jug of orange juice "...Sorta"

"Dammit [First Name]," She huffs "I don't know why I bother calling you."

"Because you love me," I smile weakly even though she couldn't see it "And I'm your favorite person in the world."

"I'm beginning to wonder why." [Friend's Name] teases "Anyway, don't forget to call the bank today."

"Oh shit, you're right!" I slap a hand on my forehead "Gonna do that now. Later!"

"See ya!" [Friend's Name] replies back shortly

I take the phone away from where it was squished between my ear and shoulder, quickly hanging it up. I wasn't really going to call the bank just yet, if I even bothered to at all this week. With a smirk, I practically throw the phone on the counter, something that I come to regret with how loud a noise it makes. My skull continues to buzz as I uncap the orange juice and take a swig from the jug. The cold liquid runs down my throat as I throw my head back, gulping down a few good swigs before lowering it. I wipe the excess OJ off my lips with the back of my hand and tug the fridge back open, where I put the drink back in. I let out a small yawn of tiredness as I reach out and grab my phone, dropping it into the pocket of my sweatpants as I leave the kitchen.

Still exhausted as all hell, I saunter into the bathroom, doing my damned best not to look myself in the eyes as I reach up to grasp the little silver knob on my broken bathroom mirror. Meanwhile, I continue to try to not get stabbed by the small shards of glass that still littered the sink counter; and attempt to not look at my scabbed and broken up knuckles directly. My eyes scan over the various orange bottles of varying sizes and labels before I find the one I was looking for. I pull out a small bottle of painkillers, but continue staring into the little cupboard for a moment, taking a moment to contemplate as I set the little orange bottle on the counter. Finally, after having made my decision, I reach up with my other hand and take out the gauze bandages I kept in here.

'Screw the antiseptic' is all I told myself.

I practically threw the door of the cabinet shit without another thought, still avoiding my own gaze. Instead, I turn the faucet on and let the water run over the fingers of my uninjured hand, that I occasionally flick in order to get an accurate reading of the water temperature. After I get to the temperature that I liked the most, I finally stick my hurt hand under the water, letting out a hiss through my teeth as the water hits the wounds directly. It was at this point I finally got a good look at my injuries, and they were _bad_. My knuckles themselves were scabby in random areas and still bleeding in others despite how it'd been a couple hours since I'd done this damage, at least for all I knew. I wasn't exactly paying much attention to the clock at them time I'd found myself in the bathroom, slamming my fist into the mirror in a fit of rage. I take my hand out of the water for a moment and bring it closer to my face to inspect it for a moment, confirming to myself that yes, I did have a couple small pieces of glass still stuck inside of a couple places from where I'd smashed the mirror repeatedly with my fist.

I look away from my hand, dejectedly for a moment whilst reaching over towards the front of the sink where I picked up my tweezers. I pick them up and with a cringe of discomfort, I raise them up to my hand. It was probably best to take this glass out, since it would probably only just cause me more problems if I leave it in my hand. Fear threatens to grip me as I bring the tweezers closer, and the feeling attempts to grab me up until the point where the edge of the flat end grasp a random piece of glass. I suck in a deep breath and try to keep my grunts and cries of pain to a minimal level whilst busying myself with prying the glass from my knuckle with a few forceful tugs. It was stuck in there damn good. But somehow, with one particularly aggressive tug, I managed to rip it out. Fresh blood leaks down my hand, dripping into the sink as I go along, pulling out as many pieces as I can.

In all honesty, I would like to think that I was doing a great job of holding it together, but god _damn_ did this fucking hurt!

I throw my head back with a silent cry of agony as I pull the last glass shard out. My eyes snap open and I drop the tweezers into the sink. My good hand plants itself against the counter as I stare down at the running water, letting out loud, labored pants. Regardless, I once again stick my hand underneath the water, letting it run over the opened portions of my wound as it washes more blood away. I'm well aware that just running just water over a wound does very little to clean it, but fuck man, I'm out of antiseptic. Well, either that or I'm too lazy to look for it. Most likely the latter.

After I feel that my hand is cleaned up enough, I finally shut off the faucet. I retract my throbbing hand away from where it originally was inside the basin of the sink. Before pivoting and wiping my hand on the white towel hanging on the hook on the wall next to the sink. Once again, I put my best effort forth to not let too many noises of pain escape me as I gently dab at the wounds with the white cloth. But, when that's all done and over with, I finally get to pick up the gauze, which would be the final step of this process. I spend a few minutes wrapping it around my hand the best I can, before tearing it off and securing it. I twist and turn my now bandaged hand around, checking to make sure that the bandages were on securely, deciding to double check in case my feelings weren't exactly correct.

After deciding that I was satisfied, I look up without so much as a single thought and freeze up upon catching myself in the mirror.

I looked like trash.

I run a hand through my matted [hair color] hair, doing my best to flatten the locks against my head with one hand. Meanwhile, my other hand works on pulling my left eyelid down, so I could lean obnoxiously close to the mirror and really get a good look at the circles under my eyes. Honestly they should've been gone by now, or at least have lightened up a bit considering all the sleep I've been getting. Or maybe it was because I was oversleeping?

Yeah, I think I read something on that once. Maybe it was one of those stupid articles that [Friend's Name] spam tags me in over Facebook.


End file.
